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Case Studies of Our Time. Musings, Letters, and of Course, Case Studies.: By the Learned Dr. W.B. Hachenbracht, M.D.

by Jeff Wherley

114 pages; quality trade paperback (softcover); catalogue #00-0037; ISBN 1-55212-373-1; US$15.50, C$23.85, EUR15.60, £10.80

A collection of faux cases of fictional psychiatrist, Dr. W.B. Hachenbracht. Modern maladies are mercilessly lampooned when the good doctor isn't reminiscing or writing to fellow practitioners asking for help with overly-sarcastic patients.

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about the book      about the author      sample excerpts      catalogue info

About the Book The case studies are reported with an eye towards satire and a hand towards the knee of that cute chick who sat next to you in study hall. "Woody Allen meets Thurber meets Guy Noir meets Groucho meets Freud," is how one reader described this novel. If there was a second, he might say, "It was a great way to level out my coffee table's short leg!" The subject matter in this short collection of modern-day neuroses ranges from smoking cessation to out-of-control environmentalism to internet addiction and advice on how discover if your landlady is conspiring against you. It also answers the pressing question, "Which is better; a bologna sandwich or heaven?" There is truly something for everyone. Except perhaps for your sixth grade teacher. But what the hell did she ever do for you anyhow?

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About the Author A life-long resident of the Buckeye State, Jeff Wherley was born in Columbus, Ohio. He grew up in a more rural county near Akron, where the favorite past time was cow-tipping. Always generous to a fault, Wherley would leave at least a twenty-percent gratuity. God only knows how he managed to get a Bachelor's of Arts from Miami University in Oxford, Ohio, with all the drunken gadding about he did on that campus, but he did. He also served as chief writer and editor for The Scuttlebutt, an unofficial campus humor rag, before graduating in 1992. Wherley has worked as fence-builder, floor-washer, radio guy, and newspaper reporter. He currently is employed as a public servant. He is married to Patty, a beautiful and enormously patient woman. They have two small children and one big dog.

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Sample Excerpt

That's All She Smoked

I lost another patient the other day when Mrs. S stepped outside to smoke a cigarette on a cold evening and couldn't tell when to stop exhaling. She was one of the favorite patients around the office, and the grief of the secretaries is palpable, like a damp Kleenex or perhaps some warm cheese. She was a warm, caring person whose only weakness was for her cigarettes and poking at eyeballs with a sharp stick.

She came to me at the recommendation of her optometrist, who was already wearing one eye patch. I was able to break her of poking habit rather easily. "Imagine if they did it to you," I told her during our first session.

"That would hurt like a bastard!" she exclaimed, and vowed to change her ways immediately. Within a few days she was poking at people's eyes with a pool cue, then moved on to jabbing at their necks with an eight ball. At the time of her demise, she would rarely give in to the urge to rub a piece of green felt on the thigh of a new acquaintance.

Her smoking was another matter. We tried a variety of cessation methods. Mrs. S once went twenty minutes without a cigarette when she took a wrong turn looking for a restroom in my office and locked herself in the janitor's closet. It was her longest abstention.

Mrs. S's history with smoking went back to her very conception. "As I was conceived, my mother was having a cigarette," she confided to me. Mrs. S's mother was a porn star, and the footage she showed me verified her claim (I reviewed that aspect of her case during a friend's bachelor party).

Mrs. S grew up in the haze of tobacco smoke which emanated from her hair. Then child-welfare authorities took her away from her mother, preventing her from extinguishing cigarettes on Mrs. S's head. The smoke ceased, but Mrs. S soon took up smoking on her own. She claimed it was not due to peer pressure, but as a coping mechanism. "I needed those cigarettes," she declared during one of our sessions. "They comforted me. Do you know how hard it is be a little kid named Mrs. S? The kids were always laughing at me. Even the teachers would ask where my husband was. So I started smoking to deal with the kids and, later, sleeping with my teacher's husbands to deal with them."

Cigarettes became Mrs. S's constant companion. She learned to eat while smoking, after some initial mistakes ("Filters are actually a good source of fiber," she would laugh). Only sleeping frustrated her. It was impossible for her to continue to extinguish one cigarette and light another without waking up.

She often nodded off with a cigarette in her hand, resulting in a large number of house fires, which she said didn't bother her. "Mattresses give off a large amount of carbon monoxide. It calmed me down while I was hunting for a fire extinguisher." She even wove several comforters out of tobacco leaves to provide additional nicotine. But the rising insurance costs made her search for alternatives.

At first she tried sleeping on a water bed, which solved the problem of fires, but created annoying flooding in her bedroom. Then she attempted to give up sleep altogether. This worked for nearly two weeks, until she went for a drive one evening and found her car in the Atlantic the following morning. Since she was living in Kansas City at the time, she reconsidered her strategy. In the end, she simply duct-taped a wet pack of cigarettes to her biceps.

She was able to change this practice with the advent of dermatologically-applied nicotine systems. "I love the patch," she declared when I suggested she use it to attempt smoking cessation once again. "If it'd been around when I was a kid, I could've used it to start smoking." Her need for cigarettes had become increasingly strong. Mrs. S had even begun to chew nicotine gum while she smoked. "The heart palpitations tell you it's working," she would gasp between chews.

The changing atmosphere towards smoking began to bother her during the past two decades. "Smoking's bad for you," she would scream when someone advised her to quit. "What about jogging in Los Angeles? What about drinking bleach? What about driving your car off a cliff? Aren't all those bad for you? And people keep doing that, don't they?" She was less than stable that day.

But the anti-smoking movement only strengthened her resolve. Mrs. S referred to anti-smokers as "Health Nazis" and people who had kicked the habit as "Marty Feldmans". When someone would request her to put out her cigarette, she would reply, "My, it's pouring cats and dogs!" But only when it was raining.

As she had requested, her final wishes will be followed. Her remains have been cremated, placed in an ashtray and shipped off to the R.J. Reynolds Tobacco Corporation. Memorials may be sent to Ernie's Newsstand and Tobacco Shop.

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Catalogue Information

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